


Fin ad Infinitum

by AmberAnnh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Endverse (Sort Of), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberAnnh/pseuds/AmberAnnh
Summary: In “The End” Dean got the chance to see the future, zapped to a 2014 where the consequences of his choices had played out. Now, it’s Sam’s turn. Transported from 2009 to 2014, he must grapple with a demonic virus from his past, angels using the remnants of humanity as disposable vessels, the devil in his nightmares, and—perhaps worst of all—why Dean said “yes” to Michael.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the amazing art for this piece (by the talented ux-tuli) here: https://lux-tuli.dreamwidth.org/27775.html
> 
> Thanks again to nullx for the amazing beta job! Thank you for your dedication, brilliant edits, and for helping this Dean girl find Sam’s voice. You brightened my day several times with your comments. Any remaining errors are my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: This is now posted in chapters instead of one long work. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

****Dean’s words echoed through Sam’s head, far louder than the whistling wind and growling road, as tires ripped miles away from the asphalt beneath him.

 

_We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker._

 

Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Dean didn’t really believe that. He couldn’t.

 

_We're better off apart._

 

“No we’re not you stubborn son of a bitch, and you know it,” Sam muttered, blinking hard. Dean had pulled this same crap during the year before his deal came due. Sam knew how his brother acted when he was terrified and too tired to fight it anymore. He pushed and pushed until no one was left to get caught in the crossfire.

 

This time, though... This was different. Dean wasn’t pushing Sam away because of his messed-up sense of self-worth. He was doing it because Sam hurt him, cut him deeply enough that time alone wasn’t going to fix it.

 

They needed to be together to fix it. Sam needed to prove that he could.

 

He dug his phone out of his pocket with one hand, swiping the screen until Castiel’s name lit up. When Sam had called Dean in a panic, freshly woken from a nightmare conversation with Satan himself, Dean had thought he was Cas... which meant Cas had spoken to Dean earlier. Given the angel’s clear preference for in-person conversation, he’d likely asked Dean where he was staying. That meant the angel knew exactly where Dean was, and therefore, where Sam needed to get to.

 

“Speak quickly, Sam. The voice says I’m almost out of minutes.”

 

Sam huffed at the angel’s grave, gravelly voice and ridiculous words. The huff wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was as close as Sam could get right now. “Hi Cas. I just need to know where Dean is.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I need to talk to him.”

 

“Can’t you call him? He has plenty of minutes.”

 

Sam passed a slow-moving truck, switching the phone into his other hand. “I need to see him. This is important, Cas. Please.”

 

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

 

Sam licked his lips. “I had a dream. Lucifer was in it. He told me I’m his vessel.”

 

Static crackled.

 

“That makes sense. I should have guessed.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. No one in his life was surprised that he was apparently destined to be possessed by the Devil. Sam refused to think too hard on that. He’d made his choices, and he would live with them, but he didn’t have to repeat them.

 

“So, where is Dean?”

 

Cas sighed. “Kansas City. The Century Hotel, room one hundred and thirteen.”

 

“Thanks, Cas.”

 

“Good luck.”

 

Sam hung up, and drove until the road blurred in front of him. He pulled off into a dingy truck stop with attached motel, a flickering _VACANCY_ sign offering the promise of a roof over his head for the night and something passing as a bed. Sam parked the stolen car—he made a mental note to ditch it soon—and trudged into the office to pay for a room.

 

By the time the greasy teen behind the counter wrote him in the guest log (by hand, with _pen_ , for cryin’ out loud) and handed Sam the beat-up key, a cop car had pulled up outside.

 

 _Crap_ , Sam thought. He kept his face turned as he heaved his duffle out of the trunk and over one shoulder.

 

A cop burst out of a nearby room, escorting a ragged, middle-aged man in handcuffs.

 

“I swear, man, she told me she was eighteen!” the man whined.

 

“Prostitution is illegal even if the girl’s of age, you scumbag,” the cop retorted. He rolled his eyes, gaze landing on Sam.

 

Trying to appear casual, Sam nodded his head at the officer and stepped into his room, closing the door behind him.

 

Sam dumped the duffle on the floor and collapsed onto the lumpy mattress. He fell asleep with Lucifer’s voice on loop in his head, Ruby’s echoing underneath it: _Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you._

 

***

 

Sam woke up with the sun, his first thought that a lifetime of sleeping on god-awful motel beds had not prepared him for the utter travesty that was _this_ bed. His back was killing him, and he could feel every wire of the mattress beneath him.

 

The he realized it was the bed’s metal springs digging into his back. The mattress had disappeared.

 

Sam opened his eyes.

 

The room was destroyed. The bedside table overturned, with chunks of it broken off. The mirror was shattered, and the mattress, sheets and blankets were nowhere to be found.

 

Heart suddenly pounding behind his sternum, Sam rolled off the bed and peeked out the window.

 

The truck stop looked deserted. No vehicles in the lot, no people milling about.

 

Sam stepped outside, the motel room door creaking on rusted hinges. Early morning sunlight filtered through a thin layer of clouds, doing nothing to warm the cool air. Sam took a deep breath, and the natural smell of autumn’s decay filled his nose, unclouded by any hint of gasoline or exhaust. Sam would’ve enjoyed it, had he been out in the woods and not at a place normally filled with diesel-guzzling machines.

 

He turned in a slow circle. The motel was crumbling, chunks of wall and roof missing, doors to other rooms hanging off their hinges, the windows nothing more than gaping holes lined with jagged shards glass.

 

“What the hell?” Sam breathed, the eerie scene quieting his voice.

  
  


Newspapers and other detritus skittered across the cracked pavement in front of the motel. Sam gathered up some nearby pages and found the dateline.

 

**October 1, 2014**

 

Five years. Somehow, some _way_ , he’d been transplanted five years into the future... if this was even real.

 

Oh god, was this even real? Was he hallucinating again? He hadn’t swallowed the demon blood Tim and Reggie forced on him back in Garber, but still. Maybe it’d been enough to...

 

“No.” Sam dropped the paper and ran trembling hands through his hair. “I’m okay.” One more deep breath to calm himself, and Sam squared his shoulders and stepped back into his room. _Assess for immediate threats, then find a weapon,_ Dean’s voice reminded him.

 

Sam’s swiss army knife was still in his back pocket, but his guns had been in the duffle bag under the bed. The cracked, dust-covered linoleum under the box spring hadn’t been disturbed in years, so he surveyed the rest of the small room.

 

His eyes swept over broken and overturned furniture, a rusting lamp (the bulb missing and wiring stripped), and an empty mini-fridge, the door hanging open by one hinge, covered in cobwebs. Sam clearly wasn’t the first scavenger here.

 

He ripped one of the thin metal springs from the remains of the bed and fished a broken chair leg out from the grimy corner near the window. It wasn’t much, but he could make a weapon out of it.

 

Sam quickly gathered up what little he could find in the other rooms and started down the road on foot, following his initial heading toward Kansas City. Tracking Dean five years in the future was going to be a bitch, but Sam had to try.

 

***

 

He’d covered a couple miles, boots slapping against cracked asphalt in a steady beat, when empty fields gave way to forest. One step in dried up farmland, the next shaded by towering pines. The border marked where humans had given up their fight to change the landscape, and the trees hadn’t yet reclaimed their territory. Sam shivered in the suddenly cold air.

 

Shade swallowed up the sun-baked asphalt behind him, and Sam reached for his only weapon—a pitiful shank made from sharpening the chair leg—and gripped it tight. Something felt _off_. He wished he had his pistol.

 

At first, Sam thought the whine was just his ears ringing (over a decade of close-range gunfire and minimal ear protection will do that), but as the volume and pitch spiked, he recognized the sound of an angel’s naked voice from Dean’s unforgettable description. _Like a thousand cats scratching a chalkboard inside my freakin’ skull._

 

His first, reflexive response, despite everything, was relief. Sam still equated angels with salvation.

 

Then reality crashed in and he sprinted for cover beneath the trees. The odds the approaching angel was a friend were infinitesimal.

 

Sam wedged himself against a fallen, rotting trunk and covered his ears as the whine reached a glass-shattering pitch. Slowly, it faded into the distance.

 

Sam waited for another ninety seconds, crept back onto the road and continued on.

 

Thirteen miles and three hours later (Sam was counting), it happened again, this time arcing overhead from east to west.

 

This time, Sam only waited sixty seconds before abandoning his cover after the angels passed by.

 

After another three hours, they came again, west to east. Huddled amid of copse of dense bushes beneath the looming pines, Sam munched on some wild rhubarb. He pulled a face at the sour, stringy root and wished Dean was there to gloat that he’d finally found a vegetable Sam didn’t like. As he didn, he muttered to himself. “It’s like they’re patrolling the area.”

 

“You’re smarter than Zachariah gives you credit for.”

 

Sam lunged away from the soft voice, dropping his pathetic dinner and drawing his MacGyvered shiv as he spun to face the threat.

 

A tiny old woman peered up at him.

 

Sam knew better than to judge based on appearances—after all, Lilith had been a little girl—but this lady wasn’t tall enough to ride roller coasters and looked like she wouldn’t tip an eighty-pound scale soaking wet. He shifted his grip on the chair leg, again wishing it was a real weapon. “Who are you?”

 

“Down to business straight away, then? I like that.” She inclined her head slightly. “I am Camael, the one who has given you this gift.”

 

“Gift?”

 

“The chance to see where your choices will lead. It is an honor not bestowed upon many.”

 

Sam straightened, but didn’t relax. “So you’re an angel, and you yanked me from that truck stop and zapped me into 2014. How’d you even find me?”

 

She clasped her gloved hands in front of her waist, red jacket sleeves wrinkling at the elbows. “I am Michael’s right hand, and he is the benefactor of the righteous. We have instructed our human sources to inform us of sightings of you and your brother.”

 

Sam swallowed. “St. Michael is the patron saint of police officers. So, what? That cop ratted me out?”

 

“You could say that.”

 

Sam gave her a once over. “Why’s Michael’s second-in-command in a tiny grandma vessel?”

 

Camael pursed her stained lips and drew herself up. Suddenly, Sam felt as though she loomed over him. “Marguerite Giroux saved dozens of innocent lives and ended dozens more evil ones during your second World War. She is unremembered by your history because of her gender and stature, yet none of the heavenly host can claim a nobler vessel. You are wrong to mock her.”

 

Cowed, Sam pocketed his shiv. “I’ll apologize to her if I ever get the chance.” Camael seemed satisfied, so he continued. “So now what? I’m just supposed to trust that you have my best interests at heart and explore 2014?”

 

Camael smiled softly. “Of course not. I don’t.”

 

“What?”

 

Camael closed the distance between them. “You need to see this future so you understand why you need to let me kill you, Sam.”

 

Sam backed up a few steps, not that it would do him any good. “I don’t understand. If you’re going to kill me, why don’t you just do it?”

 

“Father placed so many rules around our interactions with humans.” She sighed. “I need your consent in order to take your soul inside myself.”

 

“Why?”

 

“So Lucifer cannot take you as his vessel.”

 

“I’m not planning on saying ‘yes’ to that bastard!” Did _no one_ have faith in him?

 

Camael stared up at him. “I know you’re not, but my brother is powerful, cruel, and inventive. That is not a combination any human can withstand forever, Sam. Eventually, for one reason or another, you will say ‘yes’ and Lucifer will use you to destroy this world.”

 

A trickle of cold sweat ran down Sam’s back. “So killing me takes the bullets out of the devil’s gun? I don’t buy it. He’d just bring me back.”

 

“Which is why I didn’t smite you on sight,” Camael explained. She spread her hands, placating. “Please, just hear me out.”

 

She actually waited for Sam to nod before continuing. Sam appreciated that, in spite of himself.

 

“I'm a special kind of angel, Sam. It’s my job to guide chosen, remarkable souls from one plane to the next.” She rested her arms at her sides, completely unthreatening. “Let me take yours and keep it safe from Lucifer. When this is all over you can rest in Heaven. Be at peace.”

 

Sam wavered, but Camael held up one hand. “Don’t make your decision now, Sam. You’ll have three days here to watch, listen, and learn. Then I’ll come for you, and you will give me your answer.”

 

Sam took a shuddering breath, but nodded.

 

Camael pointed further down the road. “There’s an encampment a few miles that way. You may find it helpful.”

 

Sam edged past her, scooping up his rhubarb as he went by. It’d been a hell of a conversation, and he was ready for it to be over.

 

“And you were right, by the way,” Camael called after him. Sam looked over his shoulder. “The angels here, in this time, are on patrol. I recommend staying hidden. You are not of this time and you reek of demon blood.” — Sam flinched. — “Best to avoid any unfortunate misunderstandings.”

 

Sam jerked his head in acknowledgement and continued along the road.

 

***

 

The sun had just fallen when Sam reached a barricaded driveway. Glad for signs of human life, he hopped the fence and followed the gravel path into the trees. A few steps into the shade, he spotted Enochian sigils carved into the trunks lining the path. Sam recognized most of them from the angel-proofing Castiel taught him and Dean... Well, five years ago.

 

The driveway took a sharp corner and a clearing full of run-down cabins came into view. The base was defended with more than sigils. Sam snuck past five pairs of guards patrolling the border, armed with rifles. Two of them were sporting semi-automatics. Luckily, the moon provided just enough light for Sam to sneak around without snapping any large twigs underfoot.

 

He’d nearly circled back to his starting point when a silver gleam caught his eye. He squinted past the foliage, and recognition kicked him in the chest.

 

The Impala sat enshrined on four cement blocks. Though her wheels were gone, the chrome exterior still gleamed, windows unbroken and clear. Sam crept closer. “What are you doing here?” he whispered to her, this shining connection to Dean.

 

Peering through the back window, Sam spotted the little green army man he’d jammed into the ashtray a lifetime ago. He smiled softly, then grunted as something hard and heavy collided with the back of his head.

 

He sprawled across the Impala’s trunk, and her inky surface swallowed everything.


	2. Chapter 2

_ We’re made for each other, Sam. You can’t keep denying it. _

 

Sam shuddered at Lucifer’s voice. He blinked at the darkness surrounding him. The Devil’s face stared back.

 

Sam’s heart pounded, and Lucifer through him. 

 

_ You might as well give in and say “yes.”  _

 

Sam spun at the voice behind him, stumbling back from the rancid stench wafting from Lucifer’s decaying vessel.

 

_ Let’s be honest, Sammy. Saying “no” isn’t getting you anywhere.  _

 

Sam covered his ears.

 

_ You’re failing, and you’ll keep failing. Your stubborn streak is killing the world. Say “yes” and the war will end. _

 

“Please stop,” Sam begged, squeezing his head between his forearms. 

 

_ It’s all up to you, Sammy. _

 

***

 

Sam jerked awake, the cuff around his right wrist clanging against metal. He blinked his surroundings into focus. He was cuffed—just his right arm—to a rusting metal pipe. It ran floor-to-ceiling in a small, wooden structure. One of the cabins, Sam realized. The only door was on the same wall as the pipe, the only window (it was still dark outside, Sam noted) on the one next to that, above a twin bed and small desk. The old-fashioned oil lamp on the desk supplied the one-room cabin its only light. The wall opposite the window had shelves upon shelves of weapons and books. And across from Sam... 

 

A large, brown-haired man with an eerily familiar back and shoulders was cleaning a shotgun. Sam stiffened. 

 

The man must have heard him, because he turned in his chair and let the barrel of the gun rest even with Sam’s chest. 

 

“What the hell?” Sam couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

 

“I think that’s my question, don’t you?” his twin responded, voice cold and even. 

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam tried.

 

“Really? Because you’re not a shifter,” the other Sam interrupted. “Or a demon, or a revenant, or anything else I tested for while you were out.” Sam tugged on his restraints, a reflexive defense. The other Sam flicked his eyes to the pipe. “You’re not going anywhere, trust me. Not until you give me some answers.”

 

Sam resituated himself, trying to sit up straighter. “I’m you, from 2009.”

 

His double leaned forward. “Come again?”

 

“I’m you,” Sam repeated, more firmly. “An angel named Camael snatched me up and dragged me five years into the future to teach me a lesson.” 

 

Future Sam stood up and stepped closer, towering over him. “Is he still around?”

 

Sam shook his head. “She, and no. I don’t think so. Not right this second, anyway. Why?”

 

Future Sam returned to the shotgun and began reassembling it. “Friendly angels are real hard to come by, these days. Would’ve been nice to have a juiced-up ally again.” he explained. “If you’re me, tell me something only I would know.”

 

Sam furrowed his brow. Something not even Dean knew about him? He grinned and met his twin’s stare. “I hate eating salads, but we don’t have Dean’s metabolism.” He shrugged. Future Sam nodded. “Okay.” He snapped the final pieces of the gun in place, then looked up again. “So oh-nine, huh? Things sure were simpler, then.”

 

“Where’s Dean?” Sam couldn’t keep himself from asking.

 

His double stilled. “He got caught up in some angel business at the Grand Canyon a few years back. From what Cas said, he didn’t make it out.”

 

A cold vice crushed Sam’s ribs, forcing the air from his body. “You...  _ We _ , weren’t there with him?” Other-him shook his head. “We couldn’t find him?”

 

Other Sam looked up. “Stopped trying. We had other people to worry about.”

 

Sam struggled through another breath. “But Cas is still here?”

 

His double looked away. “He was. Not anymore.” 

 

Was everyone gone? Or dead? “What about Bobby?” Sam asked, desperate. 

 

“Got infected. We had to put him down right before we headed out here.” He said it with as much emotion as Dean would use to say he needed a new fake ID. 

 

Sam closed his eyes, grieving a loss he hoped he’d never have to bear.

 

He heard shuffling as his future self packed the shotgun into an already-bulging duffel and the sharp growl as he zipped it up. His footsteps marched past Sam toward the door, and Sam called out to stop him. “Wait, are you just going to leave me locked up in here? 

 

Other Sam shot him an incredulous look. “It’s the end of the world. This isn’t boy scout camp. It’s a powder keg of twitchy civilians, and the two of us walking around is a match.”

 

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but other Sam cut him off. “I need to go run an errand. You’re staying put.”

 

Sam gestured at the cuffs. “I get it. You don’t have keep me locked up.”

 

Other Sam eyed him up and down. “No, you don’t. And yes, I do.” He walked out. 

 

Sam made a face at the closed door. “Bitch.”

 

*** 

 

Sam spent the next hour of his life gouging a nail out of the floorboard. He dug, wiggled, twisted and tugged the nail out. Splinters stabbed the hell out of his fingers in the process, but... Well, he’d had worse, and there was no way he was staying locked up in a dingy cabin waiting for his future self to give him a guided tour.

 

Picking the lock with a nail wasn’t ideal (or quick), but he was John Winchester’s son. Finally free, Sam lurched to his feet, shook the pins and needles from his legs, and stepped outside. 

 

Gray, early morning mist gathered in low patches of ground around the cabins, a match for the cloudy sky above. In the dim light, Sam cautiously made his way from cabin to cabin. He didn’t encounter many people, and those he did avoided eye contact and hurried away. Sam wondered just what kind of leader he’d become, if the people he claimed to protect were afraid of him. 

 

Then again, most sane civilians would be afraid of him  _ now _ , if they knew what he did. What he was. Sam thought of Lindsey, the fear in her eyes after seeing him fight in that bar. She didn’t want anything to do with him after that, ran out of encouraging words to offer a fellow recovering addict.

 

Sam rounded the corner of what appeared to be a storage building and nearly flattened the smaller, clipboard-carrying man who was exiting it. 

 

Righting himself, Sam did a double-take at the familiar face. “Chuck?”

 

“Oh, hey Sam,” the prophet ( _ ex-prophet? _ ) greeted him. 

 

Of all the people he knew in 2009, Chuck did not make Sam’s list of people he expected to survive a five-year slow-burn apocalypse. Chuck took his loss for words as an order to continue. 

 

“Guess you want the inventory report early,” he mumbled, fumbling with the clipboard. “So, we’re doing okay on canned goods and clean water, for now, but the hygiene supplies are getting really low. People aren’t going to be happy.” He turned his eyes up to Sam, obviously looking for direction.

 

Christ, Sam wasn’t prepared for this. How did his future self get anything done? “Well, ah...” He stalled, then pulled an answer out of his ass. “If there’s enough clean water, we can ration what’s left of the hygiene stuff. Just have people just rinse?” He didn’t mean it to sound like a question.

 

Chuck looked at him strangely, face scrunching. “Didn’t I just see you going into the armory?” He gestured toward a building on the opposite side of the camp, barely visible in the soft morning light. 

 

Sam opened his mouth to prevaricate his way out of being in two places at once, but the rapid approach of a dark-haired woman distracted him. 

 

Chuck followed his gaze and stepped out of the woman’s way. “Risa,” he greeted her, ducking his head and staring at Sam’s boots. 

 

“You asshole!” She punched Sam in the shoulder. It hurt more than he anticipated. 

 

“Ow!”

 

“That ‘milk run’ you sent my team on”—she used finger quotes to emphasize her sarcasm— “just got Steve killed. We were caught out in the open when a patrol went by, and he didn’t make it to cover in time.”

 

“Sorry?” Sam tried. 

 

Risa’s upper lip curled in disbelief and disgust. “That’s the best you’ve got? Sometimes I don’t know why I stick around. I thought you’d learned your lesson about provoking angels after what happened with Cas. Guess I was wrong.” 

 

She stormed past him. Despite not knowing her, Sam tried to apologize. “Risa—” 

 

“Screw you!” she called, not even turning to look at him.

 

Sam swallowed. He turned to Chuck, still hovering nearby. “Do you know what just happened?”

 

Chuck shrugged one shoulder. “Steve and Risa kind of had a thing, I think. I’m gonna let her cool off a bit before I ask if they managed to grab anything useful.”

 

Sam felt like he was trying to put together a puzzle blindfolded and with only half the pieces. “So angels are killing people?”

 

Chuck stared at him. “You feeling okay, Sam?” Sam nodded, and he continued. “Yeah, ever since the angels ran out of decent vessels, they’ve stopped caring how many bodies they burn through to stay in the fight down here. Now they torture whatever humans they can find into saying ‘yes’ and wear them until they, you know, explode.” He patted Sam’s shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t beat yourself up about Steve... or Cas. When the angels nab somebody, there’s not much we can do about it.”

 

Sam swallowed, nodding. 

 

“But you already know all that,” Chuck continued, calculating. “Or at least, you  _ should _ ... What’s up with you, Sam?”

 

Sam met his serious blue eyes, then dragged him back into the supply cabin. Sam couldn’t have this conversation out in the open. 

 

***

 

“Wow,” Chuck marvelled. “Either you’ve  _ completely _ lost it, or we finally have confirmation that my visions are total crap beamed straight into my brain from upstairs.” 

 

Neither of those options was particularly comforting, so Sam picked his battles and ignored them. “What’s going on here, Chuck? What happened to the world?”

 

“The angels and demons turned it into a war zone, and humans got caught in the crossfire.” Chuck made a but-whatcha-you-gonna-do? face. “Lucifer’s burning his way through imperfect vessels, leaving a trail of destruction and disease in his wake, and the angels are rounding up the remnants of humanity into celestially controlled cities. We don’t know much about them, but the runaways say they’re basically internment camps designed to give the angels easy access to vessels. Humans are cannon-fodder to most angels these days, nothing more.”

 

“My god.” Sam could barely process it. 

 

“Don’t think god has anything to do with anything, anymore,” Chuck commented. 

 

The sound of tires spinning over gravel stopped Sam from asking any of the thousand questions burning in his mind. He peeked out the window and saw his future self returning to the camp in a jeep. 

 

Remembering ill-fated Steve, a man he’d never met and now never would, Sam felt a surge of anger at himself. He led Chuck out of the supply cabin, heading toward the jeep. 

 

Behind the wheel, Other Sam was talking to someone, shaking his head as though arguing. No one else was in the vehicle. 

 

Sam marched up and yanked open the door. He double’s head snapped around to glare at him. “I told you to stay put!” he growled. 

 

“You should’ve known better,” Sam replied. “I have some questions for you.”

 

“Too bad.” Other Sam hauled his duffle bag off the floor in front of the passenger seat and hopped out of the car. He grabbed Sam’s jacket by the collar and shoved Sam back toward the cabins. “Chuck, go debrief Risa. Myself and I are gonna go have a little talk about following orders.” 

 

Chuck bit his lip, but nodded and scurried away. 

 

Future Sam didn’t release his grip on Sam’s jacket until they were both inside his cabin again. 

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barked. 

 

“Sorry, sorry!” Sam held up both hands in surrender. “Look, Camael zapped me into the future to learn something. I’m just trying to figure out why the hell I’m here.”

 

“I don’t care what you need to learn,” Other Sam growled, dumping the duffle bag on the table in the corner. “I’m the one those people out there trust with their lives in a world that doesn’t have a whole lotta trust left, so when I tell you to stay put, stay put!”

 

Sam paced, glancing out the dirty window at the afternoon light. “I’m not trying to mess up what you, or we, have here,” he explained. “I just want to get back to my own time.”

 

Other Sam glowered for another moment, then glanced to the side, as though he’d heard something. Sam listened, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. 

 

Other Sam sighed. “Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered. 

 

Tension diffused, Sam tried for more information. “So what were you out doing this morning?” he asked, tentative. 

 

Other Sam raised an eyebrow, then relented. “Had to go pick something up.” He reached into the duffel and pulled out a familiar gun.

 

Sam’s breath caught. “The Colt?” 

 

His double nodded. “The Colt.”

 

“Where was it?”

 

“A demon had it. Lucifer wasted him a long while back, but I finally found the King of the Crossroads’ buried treasure.” Future Sam shifted his grip and the barrel of the legendary gun gleamed in a sudden beam of light. “And tomorrow, we’re going to use it to save the world.”


	3. Chapter 3

The central cabin in the camp was slightly larger than the rest, so it had been refurbished as HQ. The bedframe had been removed and the dresser emptied and laid on its side—a makeshift table covered in maps and dusty books. 

 

Sam followed his future self inside and settled in a creaking chair at the far end of the room. Chuck sat a the table, a nearly used-up pencil in one hand and a notebook in the other. Risa leaned against the wall nearest the door, arms crossed. Future Sam stood at the other end of the table, and Sam wished he knew how to look that imposing. 

 

Other Sam reached into his jacket, removed the Colt, and laid it on the table. Risa raised an eyebrow. “ _ That’s _ the Colt?”

 

“Yes,” both Sams said, equally testy. They glanced at each other, and Future Sam took the lead. “I finally managed to get my hands on the one thing that might be able to kill Lucifer. You could at least act impressed.”

 

She glared at him. 

 

“What’s up with you?” he asked.

 

Sam raised his hand. “Apparently you sent her out on a scavenging mission, and uh, Steve didn’t make it back.” 

 

Other Sam shot him a quelling look, then turned back to Risa. “If Steve got himself killed, that’s not on me. Now can I count on you or not?”

 

Her nostrils flared, but she relented. “I got no place else to go.”

 

“So what’s the plan?” Chuck asked, nervously diffusing some of the tension. 

 

Future Sam straightened, securing everyone’s attention. “It’s been five years, and Michael still hasn’t been able to kill Lucifer. The Colt will give him an edge.”

 

Risa raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

 

“Lucifer and Michael are  _ brothers _ ,” Future Sam continued. “I don’t think either one really wants to kill the other, which is why we’ve been caught in the crossfire for half a decade. Angels normally fight with swords, and killing someone with a blade feels more personal than with a gun.” He laid a hand on the barrel of the Colt. “I want to offer Michael a trade: He gets the Colt. In exchange, he vacates his vessel and gets the hell off the planet the second Lucifer is dead. And he takes the rest of the angels with him.” 

 

Future Sam’s expression deadened as he spoke about Michael’s vessel. A pit grew in Sam’s stomach. 

 

“You think he’ll go for that?” Risa asked, doubtful. 

 

Other Sam nodded. “Speaking from experience. Distance makes it easier when you need to put down someone you care about.”

 

Sam’s breath caught and his heart clenched.  _ Bobby.  _

 

“Any other questions from the peanut gallery?” Other Sam groused, glancing between Sam and Chuck. They each shook their heads. “Good. Moving on then,” Sam set a cracked chess piece—a Rook—onto the map. “Here’s where I want the trade to go down, and I’ll need every able body we’ve got to get there.”

 

Chuck scribbled in his notepad, then peered at the map. “Sam, that’s on the other side of Lake Manawa. It’ll be crawling with croats.” 

 

Sam leaned forward. “‘Croats’?” 

 

“People infected by Lucifer’s Croatoan virus,” Risa explained,  _ dumbass _ unsaid but clearly heard. 

 

Sam nodded, thinking of Oregon, and a town full of violent zombies where he’d been mysteriously immune. He glanced at his future self. “River Grove was a test case, wasn’t it?”

 

Other Sam nodded. “A transmittable disease that turns people into monsters. One of Lucifer’s scarier genocide tactics.”

 

Chuck chewed on the end of his pencil. “We probably have enough ammo to get through, but why there?”

 

“Because Michael’s a drama queen. That lakeside park is one of the few places left on the planet that still looks like a paradise. Exactly where he’d want this to go down.”

 

“How do we get him there?” Sam asked. 

 

Chuck and Risa both looked at him as though he’d just asked how to load a gun.

 

“I pray,” Other Sam answered, voice tight. 

 

Sam nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used himself as bait.  _ But it might well be the last _ , his brain reminded him.

 

“Risa, get A and B teams up and moving. We’re loaded and on the road by dawn,” Future Sam ordered.

 

She gave him a curt nod, then slipped out the door. 

 

Chuck closed his notebook and slid the remnants of the pencil into the wire loops holding the paper together. His eyes darted between the Sams. 

 

“What?” Future Sam asked, exasperated, as he packed up the Colt. 

 

“Are... Are you taking him along?” Chuck asked, jerking his head at Sam. “He’s you, right? So if he gets killed—”

 

“He’s coming.” Sam’s tone ended any further discussion. 

 

“Okay,” Chuck squeaked, scurrying toward the door. 

 

He paused on the threshold. Looked back. The anxiety and diffidence evaporated from his face, something calm and sad settling in its place. 

 

Sam saw, but his other self wasn’t looking. 

 

“You can’t save Dean, Sam,” Chuck said gently. It felt addressed to both of them.

 

Future Sam’s shoulders went rigid. “Get out, Chuck.” 

 

The anxious prophet reemerged, and he fled the cabin.

 

Sam ran both hands through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. His stomach roiled. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward his other self.

 

“What did he mean, ‘save Dean’?” he asked. “I thought you said Dean was dead.”

 

Future Sam kept his back turned. “He’s not dead as long as I’m still fighting for him.”

 

Sam grit his teeth as anger surged through him, white hot. “Don’t give me that Hallmark crap!” He reached out and spun his other self around. “What happened to Dean?”

 

Other Sam smiled, huffs of air escaping his mouth like the death rattle of his last laugh. “C’mon, Sam. We’re smarter than that.”

 

Sam released him and staggered back against the makeshift table. “He said ‘yes’ to Michael?”

 

Other Sam nodded. 

 

“Why?” Sam gasped. 

 

“Because he’s a stupid, self-sacrificing jerk,” his other self replied. “Or maybe he gave up on us, on everything. Or maybe Michael blackmailed him.” He slung the weapons bag over one shoulder. “Come help me get him back and we can ask him.”

 

Sam chewed his bottom lip. “Do you really think we can save him?”

 

Other Sam stilled. His eyes wandered to the space over Sam’s shoulder. His lips twitched, like he was about to speak, then stilled, then twitched again. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and squared his shoulders. “It’s not Dean’s job to save the world. He’s just cleaning up the mess  _ we _ made, like he’s been doing his whole life. Now, it’s my turn.” 

 

He never answered Sam’s question.

 

***

 

After a tense but uneventful hike through the overgrown state park, the group circled up around their leader. “Set up a perimeter,” Future Sam ordered. “Anything fugly heads toward the beach, shoot to kill.”

 

As the others receded into the woods, Sam caught his twin’s gaze. “Chuck said this park was overrun, so where are all the zombies?”

 

Future Sam gave him a pitying look. “Where do you think?”

 

A shiver ran up Sam’s spine. “Something cleared a path for us.”

 

Future Sam nodded.

 

Sam hefted his borrowed pistol. “Was is the angels or the demons?”

 

“Doesn’t matter.” Other Sam checked his own weapon. “This’ll all be over soon either way.”

 

Sam looked behind him where Risa had disappeared into the trees. “But what about the others? They don’t know what they’re up against!” He wished they had radios, or walkie-talkies, or something. 

 

“I don’t want them getting in the way on the beach.” Future Sam jerked his head at Sam and set off down the steep slope. Sam hesitated, but followed.

 

He was too focused on not losing his footing on the loose dirt and rock to take in the scenery, so when the muddy gravel turned to smooth pebbles, Sam looked up for the first time in fifteen minutes. The vista stole his breath. 

 

The wide lake’s still, crystal waters reflected the pine trees along the shore like glass, sparks of sunlight dancing on the sparse ripples along the surface. 

 

“It looks so peaceful.” The other Sam’s quiet words echoed Sam’s thoughts. 

 

“Yeah,” he agreed. He took a deep breath, the enormity of what they were about to call down hitting him all at once. “I wish Cas was here to back us up. Have you tried praying to him? I think he’d want to be here for this, no matter what happened to make him leave.”

 

Other Sam shook his head. “I forgot how  _ hopeful _ we used to be.” He looked up, sneering. “How naive. Before we figured out what actually matters.”

 

Sam’s brow furrowed, a heavy rock sliding into his gut. “What do you mean? What happened to Cas?”

 

Other Sam shrugged. “Michael wanted him. I wanted to know where to find the Colt. We made a trade.”

 

Sam’s blood chilled. “You handed Cas over for the Colt?” He clenched his fists. “Why?” he yelled. 

 

Other Sam stared him down. “Because I can’t let anyone who wants the angels gone get a hold of that gun! They’ll kill Michael, and if they kill Michael, they kill Dean. And in case you hadn’t noticed, Sam,  _ everyone  _ wants the angels gone! No one else can have this gun!”

 

“But Cas...” Sam cut himself off, swallowing bile. “He’s our friend. He’s  _ family _ , and you just... cast him aside?”

 

“You don’t understand yet, but you will.” Other Sam smiled sadly and stepped closer, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam recoiled. “The only thing that matters, the  _ only _ thing, is getting Dean back.”

 

Sam shook his head in denial. “You’re wrong. Dean wouldn’t want this. We’re supposed to save people!”

 

Other Sam cold-clocked him, and Sam went down without ever seeing the punch coming.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam came to with his jaw aching. Groaning, he blinked and fought to clear his vision, opening and closing his mouth to ease the ache of resting awkwardly on the rocks beneath him. 

 

Dean’s face came into focus above him, and Sam’s first reaction was relief.  _ He was safe. _

 

But no, Sam remembered. Not Dean... Michael. 

 

Dean never looked at him with eyes so cold and calculating. Framed by a sky so blue it gave Sam vertigo, Dean’s head tilted as Michael considered him. 

 

“See? It’s just like I said,” Sam heard his other self say, somewhere behind him. “Lucifer’s vessel, served up on a platter. You can defeat your brother before mine ever says ‘yes.’”

 

Sam scrabbled at the stone beneath him, lurching to his feet. Struggling to find his voice, Sam couldn’t look away from the alien expression on what should have been his brother’s face. He stumbled backward, trying to put some distance between them. 

 

Michael offered Sam one more glance, then turned to the Sam from his time. “In your prayer, you also told me you are in possession of the Colt, thanks to the information I sent you.” 

 

Future Sam nodded and pulled the gun from his jacket. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d even be interested in it.” 

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Michael returned mildly. “It is arguably the best example of human ingenuity in existence.” 

 

The archangel stalked over to him and held out his hand. Sam tensed. The air on the beach shivered. 

 

Other Sam hesitated a moment, twitching, then placed the Colt in Michael’s open palm. “I’ve held up my end. Now give me my brother back.”

 

Michael examined the weapon closely, caressing the barrel with two fingers. “Did you know there are only five beings in all of creation that this gun can't kill?” 

 

“I don’t give a crap,” Other Sam yelled. “Give me Dean back!”

 

Sam wet his lips, mind racing as he tried to calculate a way to de-escalate the situation. 

 

“Lucifer happens to be one of them.” Michael continued. He waved a finger and snapped Other Sam’s neck, eyes never leaving the Colt. 

 

Sam watched his double’s body drop. “Why?” he gasped in horror.

 

Michael looked over at him, confused. “I’ll just bring him back if I have need of him.”

 

Sam’s lips parted, but there was nothing to say. A cool breeze from across the lake swirled around them. Sam trembled.

 

Michael tucked the Colt into the waistband of Dean’s jeans like a medieval knight sheathing a newly sharpened sword before battle. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, seeming to savor the cool air. 

 

“This world truly is a magnificent creation,” he marveled, turning Dean’s green eyes on Sam. “I doubted, for the first time, when Father commanded us to bow to you. You were nothing more than deformed gray fish struggling through brine toward the muddy shore,” the archangel mused. “I hoped you’d die before you reached it and end Father’s little experiment down here.”  

 

Sam swallowed and found his voice. “Sorry to disappoint.”

 

Michael smiled indulgently. “You still share your brother’s sense of humor, I see.”

 

“Is Dean...” Sam cut himself off, wanting neither to show weakness nor invite ridicule, then pushed ahead in spite of himself. He needed to know. “Is Dean still alive?”

 

“Of course.” Michael seemed almost offended by the question. “I take better care of his body than he did. I’m not in the habit of breaking my toys.”

 

“Dean’s not a toy,” Sam growled. 

 

Michael rolled his eyes, for an instant looking so much like Dean Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “It was a  _ metaphor _ , Sam.”

 

“Why did he say ‘yes’?” Sam asked, the words rushing out the instant he loosened his grip on them, escaping his mouth like beast from a cage.

 

Michael tilted his head again, examining him. “He realized the inevitability of destiny. I told him free will is only an illusion, and he knew I spoke the truth.”

 

“That’s bull.”

 

“He was stubborn for a long, long time,” Michael admitted, shaking his head. “But all alone in a failing world, he came to see I was right.” 

 

_ It’s because I wasn’t there _ , Sam realized. His eyes stung as he gasped for breath. He buried his face behind his hands.

 

“Don’t blame yourself too harshly, Sam,” Michael consoled, terrifying in his sincerity. “It’s fate. Dean was always going to be mine. Just as you will always be my brother’s.”

 

Sam’s head snapped up. “I’ll never say ‘yes’ to Lucifer! He’ll destroy everything!” 

 

“You will,” Michael returned, calm as the lake behind him. “You must. It is my Father’s will.” 

 

“No.” Sam backed away, though he knew running would be futile. “Never.” 

 

“Fear not, Sam.” Michael placed a hand on the barrel of the Colt. “Your sacrifice will not be in vain, and I’ll make it quick.”

 

Sam sprinted for the treeline, but a blast of pressure tossed him across the stoney beach. Sam found himself pinned on his back. He strained to lift his head, an arm, anything. 

 

A shadow fell over his face as Michael loomed over him. “You will say ‘yes,’ Sam. No matter how long it takes me to convince you, no matter what unsavory methods I have to employ... You will consent.”

 

Sam glared. “Screw you.”

 

Michael sighed and raised a hand, but something on the horizon caught his attention. He frowned. “I have urgent business to attend to. Don’t go anywhere.”

 

Sam blinked, and the archangel—and Dean—were gone. 

 

He still couldn’t move. 

 

Camael’s face slid into view above him, upside down from Sam’s prone vantage point. She reached out a hand and touched his face with two fingers, and the world went white.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam jerked back from the dry fingers on his face. He was back in his room at the truck stop, flat on his back on the terrible mattress. He rolled off the side, planting his feet in a defensive stance as he scanned the room. 

 

It was empty except for himself and Camael, watching him patiently. 

 

“Did you see, Sam?” she asked, voice soft. “Have you decided?”

 

Sam turned away, running one hand through his hair. He didn’t want to die, obviously, but... He rattled off the address of the truck stop in a silent prayer to Castiel, just in case.

 

“Still, you hesitate,” Camael marvelled, incredulous. “This is the only way, Sam. Let me take you, and your sacrifice will usher in an era of peace and joy for all of creation.”

 

Sam stilled, his back to her. “So I get to die a hero if I do this?” he asked, slowly turning.

 

Camael nodded, wrinkle-framed eyes wide. “Your name will be remembered by angels and men until the stars turn to ash.”

 

“Wrong answer,” Sam bit out. “Ruby used the same damn tactic on me for a year. Getting me to think I was some kind of martyr for the cause so I’d throw myself off any cliff she’d point at. Go to hell.”

 

Camael’s face contorted, the kindly grandmother swallowed up by utter disdain. “I told Michael this little excursion was futile.” She shook her head, upper lip curled. “You're going to say ‘yes,’ Sam. The only choice you have is whether you'll be acquiescing to me, or to Lucifer.”

 

Sam squared his shoulders. “Not gonna happen.”

 

Camael attacked, raising one clawed hand.

 

Sam braced for pain, but it didn't come.

 

White light burst from Camael’s chest, the silver tip of an angel blade pierced through her ribcage.

 

Sam shielded his eyes against the flare, blinking the spots away as it faded. 

 

Castiel stood above Camael’s fallen body, staring at the ashen outline of her wings, some emotion between sadness and regret on his face.

 

“Holy crap,” Sam breathed. “Nice timing, man. Thanks!”

 

Cas huffed a quiet laugh. 

 

“What?” Sam asked.

 

“You and Dean are very much alike,” he commented. “And you're welcome.” 

 

Sam ran a hand through his hair, processing. “I’m glad I’m not dead, of course, but...” He looked up at Cas. “Camael said she’d hide my soul from Lucifer. That if I went with her, it’d help stop him.” He wet his lips. “Could it have worked?”

 

Cas stepped closer and laid a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Camael is the devourer of souls, Sam. She is Michael’s executioner.” He stepped back, holding Sam’s gaze. “Had you allowed her to take you, there would be nothing left of you for Lucifer, but I would not think the world better—or safer—for it. 

 

Sam nodded. “I guess we’ll have to just find another way, then.” 

 

Castiel nodded, then squinted at him. “What happened, Sam? You look... wayworn.” 

 

Sam huffed. “Camael sent me on a field trip to 2014. Thought it would convince me to go with her before things got that bad.”

 

“What did you see?”

 

Sam shook his head. “Stuff I never want to think about again.”

 

“For what it’s worth,” Cas offered, “I’m glad her plan didn’t work.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Sam grabbed his jacket and his duffle. No way in hell he’d be able to sleep here now, not after everything. “It’s good to see you, Cas. You wanna tag along with me for a bit? I’m going to find someplace else to crash tonight.”

 

Castiel hesitated. “I can’t,” he hedged. “I have an appointment.”

 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “An appointment?”

 

“I am supposed to meet Dean in a few minutes,” he replied, fidgeting with the hem of his trenchcoat.

 

“Oh.” Sam should’ve guessed, really. He headed for the door.

 

Castiel stopped him with a light touch on the arm. “Sam, Dean just needs time. He still loves you.”

 

Sam gave him a sad smile in thanks. “I don’t think we have much time to spare.”

 

***

 

Not fifteen minutes later, as Sam guided a newly stolen car down an empty stretch of blacktop, Dean called. 

 

Sam jerked the car halfway to the shoulder when he saw Dean’s name on the caller ID. He fumbled with the phone as he pulled off the road, but managed press the “answer” key just as he stepped out of the car. “Hi, Dean.”

 

“Hey, Sammy.”

 

The silence between them stretched and stretched and stretched until Sam couldn’t take it anymore. “You called me, man. Say something.”

 

“Yeah, sorry. I’m... Well, you know I’m not good at this.” 

 

Sam frowned. Dean sounded wrecked; his throat scratchy, the words forced. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Dean huffed. “Shorter list’d be what’s  _ not _ wrong.” He sighed. “I just...” Then stronger, “I was wrong.”

 

“Dean?”

 

“When I said we’re weaker together,” Dean forced out. “That was bull, and I think we both know it.” Sam’s heart lifted and he fought to keep his breath steady as Dean ploughed forward. “No matter what water’s under the bridge between us, I think we should stick together. That is, if you’re on board, after everything I said.”

 

“Yeah, Dean. I’m on board,” Sam answered. “You’re my brother. And it’s not going to be easy, I think we both know that, but I think it’s worth it.  _ Family  _ is worth it.”

 

A sniff crackled over the phone speaker, and they both pretended it was the wind. “Good. Can you meet me tomorrow? I’m in Kansas City.”

 

“Omaha.”

 

Dean chuckled. “I know a couple waitresses from there.”

 

“I bet,” Sam grinned. “Meet you on 45, by that giant bridge?”

 

“See you then, Sammy.”

 

“Bye, Dean.”

 

Sam closed his phone, then looked up at the stars. The clouds had cleared, so the night air was cooler, but the view was amazing. Away from the lights of the city, the stars always looked so much closer, and there were so many more to see.

 

Gazing up, Sam decided that no matter what it took, he’d do his part to make sure he and Dean stayed together. Keep each other strong enough to say “no” to the angels who would use them. Find another way to stop the apocalypse. He would, and they would. Because they had to. There was no other choice.

  
  


_ Fin _

**Author's Note:**

> "Fin ad Infinitum" is (roughly translated) from Latin: The End Forevermore


End file.
